


Dead Stroke

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Anal Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-15
Updated: 2009-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP; Jim is a fucking badass when it comes to pool, but he's never played against Bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Stroke

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [За явным преимуществом](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403943) by [My_Deer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Deer/pseuds/My_Deer), [WTF_Star_Trek_2015 (WTF_Star_Trek_Reboot_2014)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Star_Trek_Reboot_2014/pseuds/WTF_Star_Trek_2015)



> My longer fics are pissing me off. Thus, I bring you senseless, shameless porn, courtesy of [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/7804.html?thread=21436540#t21436540) at [](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/profile)[**st_xi_kink**](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/). For those who may not be familiar with pool terminology: [dead stroke](http://www.billiardsforum.info/billiard-terms-definition/dead-stroke.asp), so you'll understand how badly Bones kicked Jim's ass.

Fuck calling Bones a doctor. He's a fucking surgeon when it comes to pool. Jim is stunned that he's only discovering this _now_, after years of friendship (and sex) and seedy bars.

He knew Bones was capable — Bones has hit up too many bars not to know how to play pool — but he's handed Jim his ass in this game, and—_Fuck_.

Jim watches the eight-ball sink into the side pocket, exactly where Bones called it. Smooth shot, straight in.

"You've been holding out on me," Jim says, cocking his hip and leaning against the pool table.

"You never asked," Bones shoots back, returning his cue stick to the rack like he didn't just kick Jim's ass in a game Jim normally owns.

"So what else have you been hiding from me, Bones?"

"Certainly not your ego," Bones says dryly. He turns to face Jim. "You owe me a drink."

"A drink?" Jim's incredulous for a moment because he knows exactly what he would have asked for and a drink was low on the list. Jim's smile turns sly, though, and he sidles up to Bones, intentionally brushing against him as he sets his cue stick in the rack. "Those were the stakes?"

"I don't play for the whole goddamn house like you do, Jim. Just get me a drink."

"Sure thing," Jim says and strolls out of the room to the bar.

He orders straight up bourbon for Bones and then saunters back. With the glass clutched in one hand, Jim slides the partition shut to keep out any unwanted visitors. Jim turns around and grins when Bones frowns at him.

"What are you plotting?" Bones asks. "Did you spike my drink?" He eyes the glass as Jim holds it out to him.

"Give me a little credit, Bones." When Bones reaches for the glass, Jim grins, the tips of his fingers skimming over Bones' wrist. "If I spike your drink, you won't be able to fuck me on the pool table."

Bones chokes on his bourbon, and despite the glare Bones has narrowed on him, Jim can't help but laugh as he pats Bones' back.

"You didn't win the bet," Bones says, setting his drink on the table.

"Obviously." When Bones still looks unconvinced, Jim adds matter-of-factly, "Pool tables were made for sex, so consider this a shiny medal to mark your victory."

Bones leans back in his chair, taking another slow sip of his bourbon. "So what other fantasies are you going to have me entertain for your amusement?"

"Win the next bet, and I might tell you," Jim says, sliding into Bones' lap.

"Good God, Jim, you're serious."

Jim dips his head, nuzzling the line of Bones' neck. "I don't joke about sex. It's very important business." Jim nibbles the edge of Bones' jaw, slowly grinding down, feeling the rising bulge of Bones' cock giving Jim his answer.

"Take off your pants," Bones finally says, voice rough with desire.

"Knew you'd see things my way."

"Don't be a cocky bastard. I could just walk out."

Jim palms the bulge in Bones' pants. "We both know you wouldn't leave me hanging."

"I told you to take off your goddamn pants."

"Yes, sir," Jim says with a snappy salute as he stands, turning to face the pool table. He thumbs open his pants with a grin. "Oh, and lube's in my jacket pocket."

"Of course."

Bones presses behind Jim, a hand splayed between Jim's shoulder blades. Jim knows what's coming next and bites his bottom lip against a moan when Bones shoves him down with one hand, the other tugging Jim's jeans down to his ankles.

"Ooh, kinky," Jim says, pushing up a little just to feel Bones pushing him down again as Bones kicks his legs farther apart. "I like that." The last word ends in a breathless rush of sound when a slick, blunt finger slides between his ass cheeks. Jim tries to push back, but the hand on his back is unrelenting and immovable. "Don't be—" The rest of Jim's words die on a moan when Bones pushes in.

"Finally got you to shut up," Bones mutters.

"Blowjobs work, too," Jim says.

Jim's eyes screw shut, and he gasps when Bones stretches him with a second finger, and Jim's pretty sure this is the only time he hasn't minded losing, because if this was the reward, it was worth every fucking minute. Or it would be if Bones wasn't taking his sweet time with it, fucking Jim slowly with just two fingers. Jim is about to start mouthing off again when Bones adds a third finger and curls all three, making Jim moan for more.

When he doesn't get it, when Bones maintains his languid pace, Jim tries to shove off the pool table, but Bones shoves him back down.

Jim tries to push his hips back again. "C'mon already."

"When you win a game, maybe we'll do what you want," Bones says, his dark eyes fixed on the slide of his fingers in Jim's ass, and Jim has to admit that the look on Bones' face right now is really fucking hot, but he wants to get fucked some time this century, preferably this _second_, and he is determined to kick Bones' ass in their next game, the fucking cock tease.

So Jim decides that the next best thing is jacking himself off since Bones is too busy with his voyeurism kink. He fists his dick with a low moan—

"Get your goddamn hand off, or I will leave you here," Bones states.

"Now you're just being an asshole," Jim says, glaring at Bones over his shoulder, but he sets his palm flat on the pool table.

Jim's forehead drops to the table when Bones twists his fingers in a hard thrust, and Jim knows Bones wants this, can feel Bones' cock rubbing against him, and this waiting is utter bullshit, and Bones, the bastard, drags it out until Jim's not sure any more blood can flow to his aching dick or that his dry throat can make another sound. And he is pissed when Bones removes his fingers, when he's empty and waiting and too worked up to be left here like this.

Then finally, _fucking finally_, Jim feels the tip of Bones' cock pressing against his hole, and he would shove back and impale himself on it if he could, but Bones, the sadistic fucker, won't let up with his hand, and he's taking his sweet goddamn time with this, too.

"Pretty choice words there, Jim," Bones says dryly, sliding in slow inch by slow inch.

"Fuck me already!" Jim snaps.

"So you're determined to let the whole bar know what's going on back here?"

"I don't fucking car—" Jim grunts when Bones thrusts in the rest of the way, all his nerves short circuiting from the fullness, from the _yes,_ and the _more_ and the _want_.

And Bones, thank fucking god, doesn't hold back. He fucks Jim until Jim's sure he's going to have a line of bruises from the pool table being shoved into his stomach. Jim tries to scramble for purchase, but his blunt nails don't find it, clawing across the green surface of the pool table. All he can do is grunt as Bones drives into him, and when Bones' fingers wrap around his cock, the knuckle of Bones' index finger rubbing beneath the head, it's pure fucking bliss.

Jim comes on a loud cry, because fuck everybody at the fucking bar. He's getting his brains fucked out, and they can just be jealous. His cock pulses in Bones' hand, and he knows Bones is close, can feel the stutter in Bones' rhythm, each thrust that follows becoming more wild until Bones shoves deep, driving the side of the table into Jim's gut one more time as if the bruises weren't already a guarantee.

Jim feels the slick slide of Bones coming on his ass, his orgasm more restrained than Jim's, and then Jim collapses on the table, boneless. Bones uses some bar napkins to clean them up, and Jim doesn't move until the pleasant buzz from his climax starts melting away and Bones starts grumbling about something else.

Jim straightens with a grin and tugs up his pants. Then he shuts Bones up with a thoroughly mind-blowing kiss before Bones ruins the afterglow with more of his bitching.

"Next time, we're playing teams," Jim says, "so we can win enough money to buy our own pool table."


End file.
